We Ourselves Have Never Learned
by ariescelestial
Summary: You can sweep your hands into every nook and cranny, feel out the puzzle pieces, use the box cover as a guide to assembling Cloud Strife. But Cloud's only guides are a girl who barely knew him, the sword on his back, and lingering fears from his past.
1. Reunion

He was—sick. He knew that. Had been that way for a while, and someone had taken care of him but now he was blood, blood dried on his face, sword in his hand. Legacy. Live. Couldn't forget.

Fluorescent, flickering light struck the steady kathunk-kathunk of rattling train wheels into an already rattled mind. A voice asked him a question, and his head flopped in its direction, struggling to focus on the outline of a person. When he answered, they only walked away, shaking their head, uncomprehending the guttural sounds.

The next figure to draw his eyes was a soft voice with matching soft eyes in a heart-shaped face, brown draped from her shoulder. Ponytail. The pieces were familiar, he was sure they were parts of someone he knew, he just had to remember—

_Tifa._

The name came to his mind, then ventured to his tongue. Tifa. Teefah. Ti-fa, look my way.

She looked. Stopped. And started. "Cloud!"

"Mm. That's right." It felt right. He knew her, so she must know him. Someone had to know him. "I'm Cloud." _Tifa's friend, Cloud. _Grasping to that thought made it easier to muddle through a Mako-flooded mind and force stilted words through chapped lips.

"Is it really you, Cloud? I never thought I'd find you here," she said, lightly squeezing his left shoulder.

She hadn't thought he'd be here? But this was the city, he should be the one surprised to see her…"Yeah, it's been a while." He'd dragged the sword over miles of dry and parched earth, and even before that…

"What happened to you? You don't look well."

He opened his mouth, and then closed it. There was too much, and not enough words for description. Nothing Tifa could do. "Yeah? It's nothing. I'm okay."

Her lips pursed and so did his, in unconscious mimicry. "How long has it been?" she wondered aloud.

Days and miles, weeks and gunshots, years and flames and Mako reactors and Tifa, Tifa is bleeding and so is—who? "Five years." A wrong answer, because her eyes stopped scanning his face and body, stared into his own eyes. "What is it?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing. You need a place to rest, right? I opened up a bar in sector seven. You can use the spare room for the night."


	2. One Fine Wire

Seventh Heaven is under the plate. The air is filthy, and the night is broken by gunshots. Cloud has the best sleep of his life. He is warm and he has a pillow to rest his head on and he has someone who knows who he is.

Morning finds him still weak in the knees, as though he'd just gotten over a bad flu, but his head is clearer. He staggers to the bar, where Tifa is taking stock of the bar, and sits on a stool. She flashes him a warm smile. "Feeling better?"

"Mhm."

"You're sure?" She refrains from feeling his forehead. She'd already done it yesterday. There wasn't a fever. Something worse, because it was unknown.

"Yeah."

She pauses in restocking the bar, and turns to look him in the eye. "What you said yesterday. Cloud, Nibelheim was…" She trails off.

"Sephiroth." He remembers her holding the Masamune. Her grip wasn't strong enough to keep Sephiroth from taking it back. "He took you and mom away. Everyone." _I thought I was the only one left._

Her fists are trembling like her lips. There are words she needs but can't bring herself to speak. "It's been five years," she says, and he knows, can see the time in her lean, muscled arms, the exaggerated curves of her body. The fatigue in her face.

"'M sorry." He was supposed to have been stronger. "I didn't stop him."

Her eyes widen and then press tight, tight, lock down, shut the world out and bar yourself in. "Cloud," she says. "Don't blame yourself for something you couldn't help." The words seem to pain her.

He didn't stop Sephiroth, the General, the one and only, powerful, damn near invincible. Part of Cloud knows Tifa is right. Another part is raging, furious at her words. He'd take failure and blame over helplessness because _he has always been helpless_. And pride—or a desperate need to think, believe he can change things, be useful, _wanted_—wins out. "I saw what he did to you! I was a SOLDIER, Tifa!" Her eyes fly open, like a door being kicked in. He thinks it's the outburst of emotion. "I should've..."

"You were there." Her voice is thick and she sounds numb. She's only stating a fact and Cloud hesitates, unsure how to respond to such a simple truth. They both know he was there.

The moment for conversation passes; he settles back down on the stool, and she returns to stocking bottles and washing glasses. And even in his confused state, Cloud eventually notices her hands lingering too long, rewashing clean glasses, moving too slowly for a practiced bartender's.

She's not too busy to talk to him. She's busying herself to keep from talking to him. Maybe—she doesn't want him here. Which would be understandable. It's been a long time. Maybe he's an unwelcome reminder of the past. Even though they were friends back then, she's moved on, and he's…

He…

He can't be sure. He's changed too, somehow. The ease with which he accepts rejection from an old friend seems odd, but why question it? It makes moving on easier.

"Thanks," he murmurs, standing. Tifa shoves the last bottle into place, the glass spinning slightly on the shelf before it settles, and glances at him.

"Going to get more rest?"

He shakes his head. "I'll get out of your hair."

"What? Cloud—"

The head-shaking is a little frantic now. He'd said it wrong—she thought he was being dismissive. "You've been a great friend, Tifa. You helped me out." It's sincere; she gave him a place to spend the night, and now he's had a chance to rearrange the pieces of his memory and put back together who he is. _Cloud of Nibelheim, ex-SOLDIER._ And he's remembered there's something he needs to do. Something that started back in their hometown. "I can take care of myself now."

Her silence sounds like acceptance and Cloud takes it, going back to the spare room to pick up the buster sword. His sole possession. A fighter needs a weapon. He straps it on his back and the weight feels odd resting there—unfamiliar—but he carries it easily and convinces himself it only feels different because of the sickness. He strides back front, to the door, and opens it into the hazy morning and Tifa hollers his name. "_Cloud Strife!_" He thinks his mother might have been proud, but it's difficult to recall her face. All the same, the tone compels him to stay a moment longer and pull the door softly shut behind him. He looks at Tifa, whose posture radiates anger, fists clenched near her hips, one gripping a wet rag. Her face is tensed like the rest of her body, but her eyes show a sense of panic. She tries to ask him a question—or lecture him, he's not sure, not with all her false starts—and finally comes out with "You don't even have any money, do you?"

There's a rather significant, somewhat embarrassed pause in the conversation. Gil _would_ be useful. He'd done without until that point, but…

She's shaking her head as though disappointed, but her body relaxes. "Honestly, Cloud. What have you been doing this whole time?"

"Everything." The answer springs up from his head, fully formed. Tifa eyes him like he just laid a chocobo egg.

"Everything?"

He nods. He's a little unsure where this is coming from, but he's sure it's true. "After—Nibelheim. I left SOLDIER and became a mercenary."

She's sizing him up, obviously mulling an idea over in her head. "What kind of jobs do you take?"

"Paying ones." He's not going to be picky.

The jot of humor turns her lips up in a slight smile. "Barret might have something for you. But I need to make sure you've gotten over that sickness first."

"Yeah?"

"We'll spar after you've gotten some more rest." She grins at Cloud's surprise. "I trained under Master Zangan. If you're tough enough for me, you're tough enough for the job."


	3. Tifa's Test

Tifa's footsteps are solid, firm in their footing, while her heart flutters uncertainly. She knows exactly where she's taking Cloud, and exactly what they're going to do—and whatever the outcome is, she doesn't care. He might still be weak from his sickness, or he might beat her easily. After all, he says he was a SOLDIER, right? Their power was supposed to be legendary.

It's having him here, by her side, that makes her feel strange. She'd always known he was somewhere out in the world but had no idea how to start looking for him. And then some sort of dull cynicism had set in; he was in Shinra, and everything in Shinra was corrupt. Maybe he'd heard about what had happened to their hometown and left the company (though Shinra's employee retainment policy was as strict as it could get), but… she'd seen no evidence that Cloud was ever looking for her.

But that doubt's wrong. Cloud's come back.

At the same time, he's already tried to leave once. Hadn't even tried to catch up with her.

When she throws the first punch, she knows—something is off. He reacts too slow, takes it on the cheek. Not expecting it? She follows that up with a kick to the head; this time he dodges. He's still sluggish, not fighting as a SOLDIER should.

"Don't hold back," she prompts. "I can take it."

"Mm." He hesitates to go on the offensive, though. She can tell—and she's not sure if that hurts or not, that he's being so sweet but still thinks she's the thirteen-year-old girl he left in Nibelheim.

Fifteen, she realizes suddenly. He was there when Nibelheim burned.

_It still doesn't make sense._

Her preoccupation lands her a powerful strike to the side of the head when he does throw a punch, and she takes it, rolls with it, comes up on her knees, legs tensed to spring—she's ready for action, even if her ears are ringing and her vision still has darkness leeching from the edges.

Cloud isn't ready. He looks appalled by the fact that he hit her at all. Which seems strange, since he put so much force into it—unless…he's not used to his own strength…?

_He was sick, that's all._ _You saw how bad it was. Give him some time to readjust. _"C'mon, Cloud!" she shouts in encouragement, drawing his attention back to the present moment before she sweeps her leg out to knock him off his feet. He jumps away from her, out of range for an attack. Shakes his head once.

"Another time."

The words leave a sour taste in both mouths. He doesn't want another, and she knows it.

"You're strong."

"I was a SOLDIER." It's not a boast. He says it like it's obvious. "…C'mon, let's not mess around. What's the job?"

Tifa hesitates, sweeping a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Is that what he thinks this is? Messing around? He's still not at 100%, but it seems like he just needs a day or two to readjust to what his body can do. The mission isn't for three. And if she doesn't tell him, he'll look for work elsewhere. She _can't_ let him leave just yet. There's something strange going on. She scans the area before focusing on Cloud.

"The reactor in sector one. AVALANCHE is going to strike there."

"AVALANCHE?" He looks confused before his eyes cloud over and he shakes his head quickly.

"Cloud?"

"—Headache. Yeah, that terrorist group…" And then he pauses, and she can see him putting it together through his eyes. "You joined?"

They are not _terrorists, _no matter how many times the Shinra PR that passes for news calls them that_._ This is the only way they can protect the Planet. "Shinra poisons everything it touches," she tells him, fists clenching. "They have to be stopped."

He looks at her in a strange way. Maybe he's evaluating her? It occurs to her that, by stating her feelings, she's indirectly voiced the fearful accusation in her heart.

_Are you with me? Or did Shinra ruin you too?_

This is the real test.

And he says without heat, without emotion, in that level voice of his, "I'm in."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Haaa so if I say how long this document's been sitting on my computer, it'd just be plain embarrassing. This is kind of a transition as I experiment a little with how I want to do this and how far I should go; next part already has 1,000 words written for it, though, so it shouldn't take so long.


	4. Barret's Game

Cloud takes a walk on the day of the mission, clearing his head. It still feels strange, foggy, not one he's used to, though he doesn't let any of that on to Tifa. He is better, getting better all the time, so nothing's wrong with him. His attention's sharp as he walks through the sector and a clumsy pickpocket gets, to their dismay, not just an empty pocket—there won't be a gil to his name until later tonight—but a sharp admonition and a heave-ho into a nearby dumpster.

He eyes his hands after that. It was impulsive. The punk deserved it. But he's never done that before. Has he? It seems like the kind of thing he'd do. He's never had any tolerance for that garbage, and he appreciates the wide berth he's given afterward.

But he hasn't done anything like that before.

He purses his lips, a frustrated noise pushing its way out. The circular thoughts are doing nothing but frustrating him. He is how he is. He's a SOLDIER, he doesn't have to put up with that.

Maybe it feels wrong because of how much attention it attracted. There's less noisy ways to deal with thieves. Yeah. And he's just overthinking his state of mind: it's his head, no matter how weird it feels at the moment, and all these thoughts are his, and if anything's off it's just because he wasn't lucid for a long time.

…Was he?

The bar is full of chatter when he pushes his way back inside, despite it being too early for opening. Tifa's voice carries easily to him; she's sitting by another woman with brown hair, lighter, and they exchange low words at what seems to him a breakneck pace. The woman's hands are squeezed in each other and Tifa reaches in, shaking the right from the left as she presses gently. "I know. You're a genius, Jessie. Don't worry about it."

Two guys are sitting at another table; one nursing a soda has a build like Cloud's, a little more muscular, though he undoubtedly packs less punch since he's not enhanced and non-military. The other's packing more paunch than punch as he chews on a sub sandwich, praising it loudly so Tifa hears, and Cloud spots the indulgent smile on her face when she looks over. "How about I make up another when you get back?"

…This? This is AVALANCHE?

Cloud instantly dislikes the crew, so strongly that at first he's too surprised by the feeling to think about the why. But once he does, it's clear. They're not the group of hardened rebels he (vaguely) remembers fighting against; they're rookies playing at the big leagues. He wouldn't be surprised if they got themselves killed with an amateur mistake, and that's not something Tifa should be caught up in.

It's got nothing to do with Tifa being so friendly with them. It's got nothing to do with the fact that they're so busy talking amongst themselves that they don't even notice Cloud quietly standing there. Those feelings are there, sitting just under the surface, but Cloud skips straight over them without a second thought—barely a first—because disliking them for something like that would be desperate and clingy and he's not some pathetic loser. Never has been. No, he just wants to know he's working with people who know what the hell they're doing.

Their attention is caught when he walks over to the bar. "You're back." He nods in response to Tifa belatedly realizing his presence and seats himself on one stool, where he can keep the group in his peripheral vision.

"Hey!"

"Yo!"

"Is that him?"

_Obviously._

"Yeah, that's him," Tifa says, furrowing her brow at Cloud's reticence. She remembers him being a little shy in Nibelheim, but this looks like he's clammed up completely. "Hang on, guys, I'll talk to him." She approaches; her right boot taps the hard wood floor before she addresses him. "Cloud…? Did something happen while you were out?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing interesting."

"You seem a little bothered."

That makes him look up at her instead of keeping his face turned away. "I'm fine." He isn't bothered, and Tifa should know that.

He's just not impressed.

Tifa's eyes rest on his face for a few seconds, taking in his expression, before she turns to indicate the others. "This is most of the group. Barret's not here yet."

"Who's Barret?"

"Our fearless leader," says the leaner man, eyeing Cloud with a tight smirk. "Only one braver than him is me!"

"If you say so."

"Oh Cloud," Tifa starts, the reproach wavering between playful and serious, but then a mountain of a guy shoves the bar door open. The dark, earthy tones of his skin and clothing are topped by a pink peak, and Cloud blinks at the little girl who hops down from those massive shoulders and runs around the bar like she's just come home.

"Heh heh heh…so none of you chickened out. Good!" The new man—presumably the leader—slams one fist onto a table for emphasis, but what Cloud notices is the gun grafted onto the other arm. He's either more seriously experienced or a major loose cannon. Cloud isn't ready to bet on one or the other yet, but either way this guy's seen trouble. "Yo! Tifa's boy!"

"Barret!" Tifa hisses.

"Yo." Cloud drawls his response, eyes narrowed slightly.

"Tch. You don't look so tough, short stuff. The hell you carrying a bigass sword like that for?"

First impression is now complete: Barret's an idiot with a loose cannon. "It's my weapon," gets stated in an extremely deadpan, 'what do you think?' tone.

"Hmph! Long as you use it right. Now, uh—Tifa…" His dark brown eyes dart first to Marlene, then the bartender, who understands perfectly.

"Marlene, you want to help me count inventory? We got a new order in today."

The little girl skips over to Tifa, nodding, and the two of them disappear into the backroom. Barret heaves a sigh before his shoulders square again. "A'right, newcomer, over here. I ain't sayin' this twice."

Cloud does need the gil, so he gets up to hear what Barret's got to say about their mission. At least, as the briefing progresses, it seems like the other three all respect the man—if they get in a jam, they won't start arguing about who to listen to. That's important. Whether Barret can come through in a crisis is an entirely different matter. And from the looks he keeps getting sent, Cloud knows he's not trusted. When Barret asks a question, it feels like a small competition, the two of them jockeying for position. They're not going to defer to each other.

Which is just fine, because Cloud's not a part of their group in the first place. He'll help out with this job, but then he's hitting the road.

Maybe after giving Tifa a piece of his mind about these guys. _Hoo_, boy.

"All right, enough talk!" Barret says after the briefing, banging his gun-arm on the table again. "It's time for the fireworks! Let's give those Shinra folk a show they can't miss, heh heh…"

* * *

**Author's Note: **I have to admit, I don't remember what this was originally supposed to cover, so I'm mostly just having fun with the early game interactions as Cloud decides on who he is for the game's opening.

Which is, obviously, kind of a jerk.


End file.
